


the sounds of life

by itsahockeyplay



Series: the sounds of life [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (except one gets to the 'love' part years before the other so), Denial, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahockeyplay/pseuds/itsahockeyplay
Summary: His relationship with Sid is arguably the most important relationship of his adult life. Not only have they led the Pens together, they’ve relied on each other and understood one another in ways that others can’t. This? Sid loving him? This complicates everything, and even though his relationship with Sid has had its ups and downs, the one thing it has never been is complicated.





	the sounds of life

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly don't know how this became so long. and where nikita appeared from (he only comes in halfway through the fic btw). one moment, i was looking at the pens monthly "friends to lovers" prompt and thinking about how underappreciated geno is (so, obvs, sid has to appreciate him), and the next, i'd written this. 
> 
> there's one line of french in here, but if you hover over the text, you should be able to see the translation. the title is from regina spektor's song "The Light" and has nothing to do w the fic; i just needed a title that wasn't "I HATE TITLES"

“Hey, you had a good game.”

Zhenya looks up, mouth downturned. Sid’s looking back at him, still in his gear, a little flushed, hat on his head, all earnest. “Lost, Sid.”

Sid shakes his head. “You played a good game, Geno. We just hung Muzz out to dry.”

And, yeah, he had a good night – two goals. If he’d gotten another goal, or an assist, they probably would’ve won. “Doesn’t matter if we lose.”

“It does,” Sid says quietly. “You’re working so hard and I just – I want you to know that someone notices. And that we’re gonna make sure that your hard work pays off.”

Zhenya ducks his head. You’d think he would get used to Sid complimenting him, what with how long they’ve played together and Sid’s tendency to dole out earnest praise, especially after any criticism, but it still sends a trill of joy through him. “Thanks, Sid.”

Sid claps him on the shoulder. “Keep it up.”

Zhenya looks up at him and musters up whatever smile he can. This is the tenth loss in a row, and no matter how hard they try – no matter how hard _he_ tries – nothing is going their way. Nothing in his _life_ is going his way: they aren’t winning any games, Anna’s decided they need to “take a break,” he hasn’t really seen any of his friends in weeks, and his parents were supposed to come visit but canceled last minute because Denis’ wife is in the hospital. He’s been playing good hockey, but what the fuck’s the point if nothing’s working?

Sid’s smile is just as weak as his, because Sid is just as bad as he is about losing; Sid’s just better at packing it away and letting it out when he’s alone. He turns to leave, but Zhenya stops him with a hand on his hip.

“You, too. Doing good,” he says.

Sid offers him a small, tired smile. “I’m not, but thanks.”

It’s true – he hasn’t gotten a point in the past five games, and the media’s been all over him for it. There’s been a flurry of ‘Is Sidney Crosby Past His Prime?’ articles, others that talk about who’s going to “take over the throne.” It always pisses Zhenya off, because _no_ , Sid isn’t past his prime, for fuck’s sake, do they have to go through this every season?

Though Sid likes to pretend otherwise, Zhenya knows it sometimes gets to him – that he asks himself the question, too. And Zhenya’s the one that reassures him: no, he’s not. “You working hard, I notice, too. Gonna make something happen.” He nods. “Next game. Gonna give you goal.”

Sid’s smile turns into something more genuine. “Oh, yeah? Well, if you’re that sure, I’m convinced you’re gonna make it happen.”

“For you, will,” Zhenya says, and he isn’t joking – Sid needs this, and he’s going to make it happen.

Sid blinks at him before looking down. “Oh. Thanks.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks up at Zhenya, eyes crinkled in that way that makes Zhenya feel warm. “Dunno what I’d do without you.”

It’s probably meant to be light, flippant, but it comes out sincere and things are getting a little too serious, so: “Yes, I’m not know, either.” Sid laughs, and Zhenya pats his side, pushing him a little. “Go, shower.”

He’s still smiling when he says, “Yeah, okay.” He turns to leave and this time, Zhenya lets him, watching his back.

Zhenya sighs, tilting his head back, staring at the ceiling. _Next time_ , he thinks.

***

Because he’s a stubborn motherfucker, he makes it happen.

It’s a power play – the Hawks take a stupid too many men penalty – and he’s got the puck, he can see a path to the back of the net, but Sid’s _right there_ , he’s got a good chance, too, so he passes it to him instead.

The pass connects like a fucking dream and Sid deflects it in.

When the puck hits the back of the net, Sid raises his arms and they crash into each other.

“You did it!” Sid shouts, grinning like a maniac – one of the top three sights that bring Zhenya joy.

“Told you!” Zhenya yells back, pulling him closer with the arm he’s hooked around Sid’s neck.

Sid laughs, loud and relieved, and Zhenya grins because they’re winning this fucking game. They’re _winning_ , whatever he has to do.

The Hawks score another two goals, one on a dumb penalty Zhenya takes and another on a bad turnover. They’re up one and Zhenya’s line’s up; they have less than a minute left in the third. His heart is beating in his ears and he’s panting as he skates as fast as he can, bypassing one, both of their D and he can see it, he can see the shot he needs to take, up and to the right over the glove hand, and he gears up, raises his stick, shoots, and –

The puck hits the back of the net. They’re tied. Zhenya roars in triumph, on one leg as he fist-pumps. Phil and Rusty crash into him, yelling whatever, and Zhenya yells back at them in Russian because _fuck yeah_.

He skates to the bench, his shift over, and he fist-bumps everyone on the way. It’s Sid’s line now.

There are 29.8 seconds on the clock. Sid wins the faceoff and Guentz has the puck. He skates toward the net, Shearsy on the other side; they pass to each other, changing possession three times before Shearsy shoots. The puck’s batted away and Guentz gets possession – 10 seconds – shoots – 9 seconds – the puck’s deflected away – 7 seconds – and there’s a scramble in front of the net – 5 seconds – and Sid emerges with possession. He shoots – 3 seconds – and the puck finds the back of the net with 0.8 seconds on the clock.

Zhenya yells out, “FUCK YEAH!” as the buzzer sounds, hugging whoever’s closest to him. It’s their first win in ten games and it’s a well-needed _fuck you_ to the critics out there, a well-needed _fuck you_ to the critic inside his head.

He catches up to Sid inside the locker room, putting a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn’t think either of them has stopped grinning like an idiot. “Good goal,” he says when Sid turns toward him.

Sid laughs, almost bouncing on his toes. “You, too,” he says. “And good pass.”

Zhenya’s smile gets wider and he claps his hand against Sid’s shoulder. “Told you I’d get you goal.”

Sid laughs again, fucking _radiant_ in his happiness. “I never doubted you.”

Zhenya drops his hand. “Can tell media to fuck themselves now.”

“I mean, not in those words,” Sid says, “but yeah.”

“Maybe I can say, then."

Sid raises his eyebrows. “You’re gonna talk to the media?”

“We win, yes?” Zhenya shrugs. “Not too hard to talk when we do. I’m just say I play good.” He’d talked to the media last time, too, predicting this win, and he’s really looking forward to saying ‘I told you so’ to everyone.

“Well, you did.” Sid squeezes his bicep, tilting his head in that way he does whenever he  _really_  means something. “You were amazing.”

Zhenya takes a beat too long to respond, arrested by Sid’s intense gaze. “Not as good as you.”

“Oh my god,” Sid says, rolling his eyes. “Just take the compliment. You were amazing, like you’ve been the past ten games, and the only difference is that I finally took advantage of that. I’m serious – without you, we wouldn’t win half the games we do.”

“You would – “

“We wouldn’t.” Sid takes a step closer, enough that he has to look up at Zhenya. “Without you, we wouldn’t be half as good as we are.”

Zhenya opens his mouth, but at Sid’s disapproving stare, licks his bottom lip and shuts it instead of letting the barrage of denials fall out. “Thanks,” he says, staring at anywhere but Sid. He isn’t one to deny his own accomplishments, to own the fact that he’s more than good at what he does, but it’s – it’s nice to hear.

Sid bumps him and when Zhenya looks at him, he’s wearing the smile Zhenya has a hard time parsing. “Just stating facts. You’re – “ He huffs out a laugh. “You’re really fucking good at hockey.”

Zhenya smiles teasingly even though he wants to say, ‘Not good enough to be in the NHL top 100.’ He knows, he _knows_ he doesn’t need to be on a list to validate the fact he’s good, but being left out had stung. Still does. “Know this, Sid. Always try to tell.”

But Sid isn’t in the mood to let it go that quickly. “Seriously, Geno. You’re probably better than I am.”

“Not true,” Zhenya says, hackles rising at the blatantly false statement. “You – “

“You are,” Sid says in his captain voice, which actually has no effect on Zhenya because it’s only two shades away from his ‘I’m bullshitting so hard right now but you’re gonna believe me’ tone, and he’s fallen for that one too many times. “I mean, I’m probably more consistent, but when it comes to just pure talent, you’re – you’re more talented than I am.”

It isn’t the first time Sid’s said something like that and it isn’t the first time Zhenya’s denied it, but Sid’s looking at Zhenya with his faceoff face, has amped up the “captain” in his captain voice – it’s obvious he really, really wants Zhenya to agree with him and won’t rest until he gets what he wants. But Zhenya can’t just _agree_ , so he shrugs.

“You’re amazing, Geno,” Sid says, firm. “Don’t forget that.”

Zhenya’s cheeks warm up and he’s so glad he doesn’t get as red as Sid does. “Won’t.”

“Seems like you do sometimes,” Sid says.

Zhenya looks down, swallowing. “Won’t.”

Sid sighs. “You probably will.” When Zhenya looks at him, he smiles and adds, “But I’m gonna be here to remind you.”

“God, can you two have a heart-to-heart to the side, please?” Tanger says, shoving a little at Sid’s shoulder. “You’re blocking the way.”

“Don’t get say anything,” Zhenya says, clinging on to the opportunity to leave the conversation because he loves praise but gets uncomfortable when he hears it face-to-face, especially from Sid. “Didn’t get any point. We both get three. Can stand wherever. Have thousand heart-to-heart.”

Tanger narrows his eyes, this time trying to shove Zhenya. “Shut the fuck up, Geno. I’m a defenseman, which means I defend. Which means my main job isn’t to get points, because defense is the _opposite_ of offense.” He scoffs. “You get a few points and suddenly think you’re this hotshot.”

Sid opens his mouth and Zhenya knows he’s probably going to say something embarrassing in Zhenya’s defense, so he gets there first: “No, already _am_ hotshot. I get if you not notice, though – you not good at that.”

Tanger makes an outraged noise and turns to Sid. “You’re not going to defend me?”

Sid shrugs, biting down on a grin. “I mean...”

Tanger shakes his head in disgust. “Spineless,” he says. “Should’ve known you were gonna be this way, since Geno’s involved.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Sid says. “That’s not – “

“True? Is that what you were gonna say? Because it is, and anyone with half a brain can notice.” Tanger looks around and then gestures at Rust. “I mean, even _Rust_ notices.”

“Hey,” Rusty says, pointing a finger at them. “I’m very aware, thanks, and I have more than half a brain.”

All three of them snort a laugh.

“Fuck you, I do,” Rusty says, pouting a little. He turns to his right, where Dumo’s standing and fiddling with his gear. “Right, Dumo?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Dumo says, not even trying to pretend he’s paying attention.

“I come to you _once_ for support, and _this_ is how you treat me?” Rusty says, hitting the back of Dumo’s legs with his stick.

Zhenya’s lost interest in the conversation, so he turns to Sid and Tanger. “Good game,” he says to Sid, nodding, and then he turns to Tanger, smirking as he says, “Better game for you next time, yes?”

Tanger splutters and Zhenya smacks him on the ass as he walks past him.

“Dites à ton petit ami de se comporter,” he says to Sid.

“He’s not – I’m not – that’s not – “

Tanger hums. “Yeah, sure. That’s why you can’t even finish a sentence.”

Zhenya shakes his head, tossing over his shoulder, “You wrong, Tanger.”

“You don’t even know what I said.”

“Don’t need to, know you wrong anyway.”

“If you knew, you wouldn’t be saying that!”

Zhenya flaps a hand. “Sure, what you say.” Zhenya probably shouldn’t enjoy riling Tanger up this much, but it’s so easy, he can’t resist.

“Fuck you, Geno!”

Zhenya grins, heading toward the showers.

***

_Hey, I can pick you up. I have breakfast, if you haven’t eaten._

Zhenya squints at the text when his phone vibrates loudly on his sidetable. It’s from Sid and it takes him a moment to comprehend. He switches to the English keyboard and thumbs out, _yes )))))_ , because he’s all for food and Sid’s company, even if it is an ungodly hour.

It’s 6:55, which is four hours and five minutes too early as far as Zhenya is concerned. They have practice, though – _why_ Sully had to schedule this early, he doesn’t know – so he has no choice. He shuts his eyes, waiting for his alarm to go off at seven. Sid texts him back before then.

_Is that a yes to food and a ride, or just the ride?_

Zhenya rolls his eyes, because what _else_ would he mean? _both_

Then, after a moment, he adds: _coffee too_

_Yeah, I figured_ , Sid texts back, and Zhenya grins a little because he can hear Sid’s dry tone in his head.

_thanks )))))_

_No problem. I’ll be there in 30 minutes._

Zhenya puts his phone to the side and shuts his eyes, adding another fifteen minutes to his alarm because if he doesn’t need to make breakfast, why bother getting up earlier than that? He’s on the cusp of going back to sleep when his alarm goes off, and he groans dramatically before shutting it, sitting up in his bed and staring at his window. It isn’t even fully light out. He can’t _see_ that, of course, because his blackout curtains don’t let any light in, anyway, but he checks how early sunrise is so he can complain properly.

He drags himself out of bed, frowning at the cold when he gets up, shuffling to the bathroom and thanking his own foresight in getting heated floors, as he does every morning when it’s even marginally cold. He scrolls through his Instagram feed, toothbrush in one hand. Anna’s posted a new picture with a couple of her friends, and she looks like she’s enjoying herself. He thinks about liking the picture for a second before deciding, no, he won’t, because that might make her think he was sorry about their last argument and he absolutely _isn’t_. He’d made it very, very clear Pittsburgh was home for the majority of the year; Anna shouldn’t have been surprised.

They’re married now, though it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it, not with Anna refusing to stay in Pittsburgh for more than a few weeks. They’d taken their vows in the courthouse a couple months ago, and neither of them was up for throwing an actual wedding because, well – both of them knew the only reason they’d gotten married was because Anna was pregnant. Both of them knew if not for that, they wouldn’t have gotten back together, let alone _married_.

He scrolls past the picture and aggressively brushes his teeth, trying not to think about Anna but failing and then brushing even more aggressively, glaring at his phone. Sid texts him, then, and Zhenya forces himself to stop thinking about it because he doesn’t want to meet Sid angry and upset.

_I’m here_.

Zhenya frowns, holding his toothbrush in his mouth to free both hands so he can type out: _??? only 20min_

_I gather you’re not ready?_

 

_I’ll let myself in, then._

Zhenya sends back: 

Sid doesn’t text back. He’s standing in his closet, trying to figure out what he’s going to wear – he hasn’t done laundry in an embarrassingly long time – when he hears the front door open and shut.

“Upstairs,” he yells out.

“Downstairs,” Sid yells back.

Zhenya picks one of the shirts balled up on the shelf – it smells clean – and grabs the first pair of jeans he sees on the floor, slipping into them before thudding down the stairs.

Sid’s in the kitchen, having set out a plate. He raises his eyebrows when he sees Zhenya. “Wow, you’re actually wearing pants.”

Zhenya turns up his nose. “Yes, is what people do.”

“Not when it takes them fourty-five minutes to get ready,” Sid says. “I expected you to still be in bed, honestly. I thought it’d take me longer to get here, but traffic was better than I expected.”

Zhenya doesn’t bother replying to that and instead crowds up against Sid, who’s got a paper bag in his hands. “What food you get?” He looks at the clock; they have about ten minutes before they leave if they want to get there in time, which Sid always does. “Have ten minutes, need to hurry.”

“Oh, practice’s been delayed thirty minutes,” Sid says, offhand, and Zhenya stares at him in outrage.

“Why you get here so early, then?”

“Because you’re always almost half an hour late. C’mon, I do this every time, Geno; how have you not caught on?”

“ _Rude_.”

“I brought food.”

“Okay, only _little_ rude,” he amends. “Almost forgiven.”

“I also brought lattes.”

“Okay, hundred percent forgiven. Where?”

Sid hands him a cup and Zhenya takes a sip, humming a little in appreciation because god bless whoever invented coffee. It isn’t even any of that Starbucks shit – it tastes like that small coffee shop they both love, the one that roasts their beans in-house.

Sid looks smug and when he opens the bag and plops down a few danishes onto the plate, he looks even smugger at Zhenya’s noise of appreciation.

“Meal plan?” Zhenya asks, biting into one and not bothering to hold back his happy sigh. Cheese danishes are the best thing in the world.

Sid holds out a napkin and when Zhenya ignores it, taking another bite instead, he sighs a little and brings his hand down. “One day’s okay,” he says, smiling a little.

Zhenya isn’t going to argue with that. “Taste just like ones from bakery in downtown.”

Sid takes a bite, nodding, and then takes a sip of his coffee, leaning against the counter. “Oh, yeah, I got them from there.”

Zhenya is about to reach for another one but pauses, looking at Sid. “Is twenty minutes from here.”

Sid shrugs. “Yeah, I know. You like them.” He fiddles with his coffee cup, picking at the sleeve.

Warmth grows inside Zhenya’s chest, and it isn’t just from the coffee. “Really? Got for me?”

Sid won’t meet his eyes. “I mean, I like them too,” he says. “Obviously.”

Zhenya bumps him with his shoulder and Sid sneaks a glance at him from the corner of his eyes. “Thanks, Sid.” He takes a big bite, smiling wide. “Do love.”

“Whatever,” Sid mumbles, pulling the bill of his cap down further.

“Is sweet,” Zhenya coos obnoxiously and then holds out the raspberry danish in his hands. “Like this.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “See if I ever get them for you again.”

“No, I take back,” Zhenya says, slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in. Sid giggles and elbows him, so Zhenya unhands him though he doesn’t really want to. Sid’s warm by his side and fit’s perfectly under his arm.

“C’mon, we only have twenty minutes to eat.”

Zhenya knocks back the bill of his cap and Sid makes a disgruntled noise. “Always in hurry.”

“Always wanting to be on time, yeah,” Sid says, affixing the cap back onto his head.

“On time, ten minutes late – what is difference?”

Sid’s indignant face is exactly as hilarious as Zhenya imagined. “There’s a _huge_ difference, what are you talking about?”

Zhenya shrugs, hiding his grin behind another bite. “I don’t see.”

Sid makes an offended noise before narrowing his eyes and elbowing him harder. “I know what you’re doing. Asshole.”

“Do this every time, Sid,” he says, eyes wide, tone only mildly mocking. “How you not caught on?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Yes, know this.” He sighs. “Have to be funny enough for both of us. Very hard.”

“Hey, I can be funny.”

Zhenya just looks at him.

“I can!”

“ _Okay_.”

“I’m serious.”

“Thought you were funny?”

Sid tries to keep a straight face for about five seconds before collapsing into giggles, and Zhenya joins him because it’s hard not to laugh when Sid’s giggling so adorably, cheeks pink.

“Okay, we really need to get going,” he says after a moment.

Zhenya looks at the clock before huffing out a breath. “Still have fifteen minutes, Sid.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna spend those fifteen minutes looking for your coat and keys and hat. Shoes, too, probably.”

Zhenya protests nonverbally, shoving another bite into his mouth. “Not true. I ready.” He motions at himself. “Ready to go. Leave in two minutes.”

Sid’s hum of agreement sounds more like one of skepticism. “Right.”

“Can’t believe you not believe,” Zhenya says, shaking his head.

Sid finishes the pastry in his hand before dusting his hands together. “Yeah, I’m being totally unfair. I mean, it’s not like you’re constantly late or anything.”

Zhenya waves a hand. “Late maybe few times."

“If ‘few times’ means ‘every time,’ yes, I agree.” Sid shoves at him. “Go, get ready. Get your coat. And your keys.”

Zhenya scoffs, holding his ground. “Am ready. Let’s go, right now."

Sid’s skepticism is palpable.

“Really,” he says, shoving at Sid this time. “Go, get coat, shoes. I’m get mine, meet you at door. Two minutes.”

“Okay,” Sid says, eyebrows raised.

Zhenya takes another danish. “This – “ he thrusts it out in front of Sid’s face “ – only reason I not say anything to you right now. You lucky.” He turns and is halfway up the stairs before Sid can answer.

It sucks, then, when he actually can’t find his gloves. He knows for a fact he took them off in his room – he sees the scarf he’d discarded sitting on the floor, which reminds him he should probably take his scarf with him, too – but they aren’t anywhere. It’s the third pair he’s misplaced – where the fuck do his gloves go?

He debates whether it’d be worth trying to find them, but the likelihood he’s going to find them in time to actually make practice is slim so he cuts his losses. He pulls on a pair of socks and grabs his scarf, going downstairs to get his coat. He can only find one shoe, though, so he crouches down and rummages around for the other in his closet because it _has_ to be there.

He makes a noise of triumph when he pulls it out. He puts the pair on and walks toward the door, scarf in his mouth while he tries to fit into his coat. Sid is leaning oh-so-casually against the entryway table, arms crossed, fingers drumming his bicep. Zhenya’s surprised he hasn’t procured a water bottle out of thin air to hold in his hands.

“You get your keys?”

Zhenya finishes putting on his coat and takes the scarf out of his mouth. “Yes, have keys,” he says witheringly, patting his pockets. “Wait.” He spins around. “Don’t.” He pats his pockets again, hoping they’ll magically appear this time, and then scowls and kicks off his shoes when they don’t, venturing back into his house.

They’re not in the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, the bathroom; he knows he didn’t take them upstairs, because he just doesn’t do that. Maybe they’re in one of his other jackets?

Except they’re not, and he goes up to Sid, frowning. “Can’t find.”

“Huh, what a shocking turn of events.”

Zhenya frowns harder. “You not help?”

“Sure.” And then he turns a little to the side and – picks up Zhenya’s fucking _keys_ from the table, the asshole.

“Knew _entire_ time? Fuck’s sake. Why you not tell?”

“You didn’t ask.” He jingles them a little. “Do you not want them?”

Zhenya holds out his hand, glaring at Sid as he drops the keys into Zhenya’s waiting palm.

Sid checks his watch. “Well, would you look at that. Fifteen minutes.” He looks at Zhenya, straight-faced. “I don’t want to say I told you so,” he says, and he doesn’t have to because every line of his body says it for him, “but.” He grins, wide. “I told you so.”

“No one like know-it-all, Sid,” Zhenya says, glaring as he brushes past him. He opens the door, cursing at how fucking _cold_ it is, and then turns to Sid with his eyebrows raised. “What, not in hurry anymore? Thought you wanna be on time.”

Sid’s still grinning. “Right, sorry.” He crowds up right against Zhenya, forcing him out of the door, and then turns to lock the door.

Zhenya doesn’t bother waiting for him and instead rushes to the car. He knows it’ll be cold, too, and he’ll have to wait for Sid anyway, but something about being _inside_ another structure makes the cold more bearable. He opens the door and slips in and then smiles when he realizes Sid’s already turned on the car and let it heat up because it’s gloriously, wonderfully _warm_.

“It’s not cold!” he says when Sid climbs in, and he’s probably too excited about it but he doesn’t care because it’s _warm_.

“I didn’t wanna hear you bitch about how cold it was,” Sid says, turning the key to turn on the engine, “and I knew you’d take forever, so, yeah. It’s warm.”

“Don’t need lie, Sid – know it’s because you so _sweet_.” He reaches out his hand toward Sid’s hair, intent on ruffling it, wearing a shit-eating grin.

Sid lists to the side, bringing up his arm to stop him, and he isn’t successful in suppressing his smile. “ _Stop_ , you’re such an asshole.”

“Please, know you love me.”

Sid jerks his head toward Zhenya, eyes wide. “What?”

Zhenya furrows his brow, because that wasn’t what he expected. “Joke, Sid.”

“Oh.” It’s painfully obvious Sid forces himself to relax and he shakes his head, laughing. “Right, yeah. Sorry.”

Zhenya waits for more, but Sid’s staring ahead, broadcasting ‘I have decided not to talk about this, therefore, I will not,’ so Zhenya lets it go and chalks it up to it being early in the morning. Sid isn’t as bad about mornings as Zhenya is, but whatever. Sid’s weird sometimes.

“Sid, going five under speed limit,” he groans after a while, because Sid’s still uneasy and this is a well-worn argument where both their roles are very well defined.

“I’m going _exactly_ the speed limit.”

“Actual speed limit is – “

“It’s _not_ five above, Geno, I don’t understand how you’re not sitting in jail or whatever right now because of your speeding.”

“Never throw me in jail,” Zhenya says, scoffing.

“Oh, yeah? You sure about that?”

“Yes. Judge probably fan. Everyone fan.” He’s about to add ‘everybody loves me,’ but he remembers how Sid had reacted to that before so instead says: “Know I’m best.”

He isn’t expecting the sincere smile Sid throws at him. “Yeah, you are.”

“ _Sid_ , not suppose to say that, suppose to chirp me,” he complains because he doesn’t know what else to say. If he tries to deny it, Sid will insist on getting the last word and that’ll just make everything worse.

“Oh, sorry.” Sid straightens his face. “Let’s try that again. Take two.”

“Too late. You shit actor, anyway.”

“Excuse me, I have an Emmy.”

“They feel sorry for you, that why.”

“I worked _hard_.” Zhenya’s sure Sid’s actually a little offended underneath all that false outrage, because Sid _did_ work hard, he always works hard; it doesn’t matter what he’s doing.

“Yes, of course,” Zhenya says as condescendingly as possible. He thinks about patting Sid on the head, too, but Sid’s driving, so it’s probably not the best idea.

“In Duper’s wise words: fuck you, Geno.”

***

Zhenya hasn’t scored a point in three games and he is fucking _done._

He strips out of his gear, throwing it piece by piece into his stall, head down. No one tries to talk to him, and he’s thankful because if someone did, he’d bite their head off.

“Hey.”

Zhenya breathes in through his nose but doesn’t stop what he’s doing, eyes still fixed ahead. “What, Sid.”

“I’m gonna come over after, okay?”

Zhenya sneers, rounding on him. “Why, so can give me captain speech? Tell ‘oh, just try, you get it,’ or, ‘keep try, don’t be mad’? Don’t need, Sid. Don’t need you.” As soon as he says it, he wants to take it back, because of course he needs Sid, of _course_ , but the words, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” taste poisonous right now.

Sid blinks at him before pressing his lips together. “I’m coming over. If you don’t want me there, I won’t.”

“Don’t,” Zhenya snaps. He pretends he doesn’t see the lingering looks people are throwing the two of them. Both of them are speaking quietly enough that no one can hear what they’re saying, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the tone of the conversation.

Sid’s lips thin even further. “Tough. I’m coming over anyway, because that’s my job. There’s obviously something wrong and you’re not gonna talk to anyone about it.”

“Yes, your _job_.” He moves closer so Sid has to crane his neck up to look at him. “Maybe I not want Captain Sid to tell me how I do mine.”

Sid’s silent for a beat. “What about if I want to talk to you as a friend?”

Zhenya opens his mouth and then shuts it. The fight leaves him in a rush at Sid’s quiet question. “Not good friend right now, Sid.”

Sid’s shaking his head before Zhenya even finishes what he’s saying. “I’m not asking you to be. I just – “ He bites his lip before releasing it, sighing. “I’m worried about you, Geno. Let me talk to you?”

Zhenya’s never been able to refuse Sid, not really, especially not when he’s looking up at Zhenya so honest, open, worried. “Okay.”

“Thanks, Geno,” Sid says.

Zhenya nods, shame forcing his head down, because Sid shouldn’t be thanking him, it should be the other way around. But if he opens his mouth, he doesn’t know what’ll come out, so instead he turns back to his stall and continues stripping.

Sid leaves him and he goes through the rest of his routine on autopilot, not meeting anyone’s eyes because half of him wants to start a fight and the other half is too ashamed to even bother. He takes his time in the shower, turning the water as hot as he can stand it and tilting his head up into the spray, letting the water run down his body, wishing it could melt some of the weight on his shoulders, wash it away. He knows droughts happen to everyone, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Especially when they’ve been losing so much.

He forgets – or maybe willfully ignores – the fact Sid wants to come home with him, so it’s a surprise when he finishes and walks out to find Sid waiting at the entrance of the locker room.

Sid straightens, looking at him with his brow furrowed. “I’m just gonna meet you at your place, if that’s okay.”

It isn’t really a question, but Zhenya answers anyway. “Okay.” He doesn’t try to initiate conversation and his expression warns off anyone from trying to talk to him, so he reaches his car unbothered.

Zhenya climbs in and floors it to get back to his house, not bothering to check whether Sid’s following him or not because Sid knows the way; he doesn’t need Zhenya as a guide.

The fight’s drained out of him even further, after the time he’s had to reflect, and guilt about how horrible he was when Sid was just trying to help – about Zhenya saying he doesn’t need Sid – churns low in his stomach. He knows Sid won’t think Zhenya actually believes that, because he’s said similar things before – he’s really predictable about how he reacts when well-intentioned concern is thrown his way during times he really, really doesn’t want it, so this isn’t new. Neither is the way the words, “I’m sorry,” are begging to escape his mouth now that he’s calmed down.

He gets to his place before Sid does because Sid insists on driving like he’s 85 and has cataracts in his eyes. It’ll be at least five, probably ten minutes before he’s here, so Zhenya heads inside to make himself comfortable, which, today, means taking a shot or five of vodka.

He takes three, which is barely enough for him to even feel anything, but he stops because Sid will insist on discussing things with Zhenya and he needs to be able to focus to actually understand what Sid’s saying. Sid talks too quickly when he’s emotional, and Zhenya doesn’t want to have to keep on asking him to slow down – it’s frustrating for both of them.

His phone buzzes and he picks it up. Anna’s name flashes on the screen but he ignores her text, throwing the phone somewhere in the general direction of the couch, because he is _not_ dealing with that right now.

Twenty minutes go by and Sid still isn’t here. Zhenya looks around for his phone but he can’t find it. Fuck, what if something happened to Sid and he’d missed a call because Zhenya had insisted on acting like a child? Sid’s never late – a byproduct of making sure no one ever thought he was a spoiled, bratty superstar that expected others to wait on him. Sid takes that stuff much more seriously than Zhenya does; of course, it’s probably because Sid has to.

He’s on his knees, having pulled out the all the couch seat cushions because he is absolutely _certain_ his stupid fucking phone is in there somewhere, when Sid says: “Uh, what are you doing?”

Zhenya straightens and snaps his gaze toward him, slumping his shoulders and shaking his head, letting out a breathless laugh. Sid doesn’t look hurt, just extremely confused and a little amused. “Just – worried, about you. Were late, think maybe something happen, couldn’t find phone, so...” He trails off and tilts his head toward the cushion-less couch.

“Oh.” Sid lifts the bag in his hands, smiling a little. “I’m fine. I just stopped by for food. I texted you, but I guess you didn’t get it.”

“Yes, just say this,” Zhenya says, rolling his eyes. But then he remembers how their last encounter had ended and this time, his shoulders slump in shame. He can’t quite look Sid in the eye when he says, “Didn’t mean. Sorry, Sid.”

He hears Sid plop the bag onto the coffee table and then kneel down next to him. Sid bumps his shoulder a little. “I know,” he says quietly.

Zhenya looks at him. Sid’s staring at him with his usual intense gaze, hazel eyes – or green or something in between; Zhenya can never really tell – trained on him, and it takes his breath away, still, to be the recipient of such sincere attention. “Shouldn’t just – _know_.” Sid shouldn’t just brush his assholery aside, is what he wants to say, but fucking English makes it hard to say it in proper words. He’s about to try again, in a sentence that will actually make sense, but Sid replies before he can.

“You were an asshole, and I’m gonna hold you accountable for that, but that can wait until tomorrow, especially since you’re obviously sorry.”

Because Sid – Sid always knows what Zhenya’s feeling, sometimes even when he himself doesn’t. He nods. “Okay.”

Sid’s still staring at him. Neither of them breathes. Zhenya’s heart is racing. His mouth's a little dry. Palms a little sweaty, and he doesn’t know why. He licks his lips.

Sid breaks away and clears his throat. “C’mon, I’m hungry, let’s get the cushions back on.”

Zhenya blinks, wiping his palms on his jeans. He waves a hand. “Can do later.”

As expected, Sid makes a face at him. “Or we could just do it now, so your couch can actually work as a couch. Oh, also, do you need me to call you?”

Zhenya stares at him, not sure whether he correctly understood.

“Y’know,” Sid says, “to find your phone.”

“Oh.” He suppresses a smile as he repeats, “Can do later.”

Sid sighs. “I don’t know why I even ask.”

Zhenya stands, knees cracking a little. He leans down and tugs at Sid’s arm, saying, “Come, hungry.” When Sid’s standing, Zhenya plucks the bag from the coffee table and brushes past Sid to get to the kitchen. He peeks into the bag as he asks, “What you get?”

“Sushi.”

Zhenya makes a sound of delight. “Good choice.” He turns the lights on in the kitchen and heads toward the cupboard that holds his plates because Sid will bitch about eating out of the containers.

Sid leans against the kitchen island, pushing forward onto his forearms. He doesn’t say anything, but when Zhenya glances at him, he’s wearing the expression he wears when he’s quietly proud of something he’s done – a little smug, a little proud, and a lot pleased.

Zhenya grins to himself and shakes his head a little, pulling out the drawer to pull out a fork for Sid, who still hasn’t learned how to use chopsticks. At this point, Zhenya’s pretty sure it’s just pure pettiness, a reaction to the scorn Zhenya had showered him with when he’d learned Sid couldn’t use chopsticks.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Zhenya says, grabbing the plates, sushi, and lone fork and heading to the table.

“ _What_?"

“ _Nothing_ , Sid,” Zhenya says, letting fond exasperation bleed into his words, because he doesn’t know how to explain the warmth and happiness and gratitude coagulating in his chest, creating a clot of emotion he can’t express, one that makes his breath stutter and his heart hurt, just a little.

Sid takes a plate and his fork and sits, humming skeptically but letting it go. The fact that he lets it go so easily is what reminds Zhenya why Sid’s here in the first place.

He’s about to start the conversation but he takes a bite and can’t help sighing in happiness. Good sushi is one of the best things in the world. “Taste just like place in downtown. Where you find?”

“Oh, um.” Sid shoves another piece of sushi into his mouth – _without_ the wasabi or soy sauce, god, why does he even associate with Sid – and chews slowly. “I actually got it from there.”

Zhenya pauses midway into eating another piece, eyes widening. “What? Is thirty minutes from here!” It isn’t the first time Sid’s done something like this, but it surprises the hell out of him every time.

“Yeah, well,” Sid says, staring at his plate as he shrugs. He glances up and then back down, his cheeks pinker. “I know you really like this place. And you’re feeling really shitty. And there’s obviously something wrong.”

Zhenya wants to reach forward and tip his chin up, but that isn’t something they do. Instead, he says, “Sid,” waiting until Sid looks up. “Thank you.” He hopes his smile and his tone convey how – how _sweet_ Sid is, how thoughtful. How much it means to Zhenya.

“No problem.”

Zhenya makes a noise of frustration because he doesn’t just want Sid to brush this aside. “Yes, was problem. Thirty minutes away. You do, though. So, _thank you_.”

“You’re welcome,” he says after a beat, offering Zhenya a small smile, cheeks red at this point.

Zhenya stuffs a piece of sushi into his mouth because maybe three shots was enough to give him a buzz; he’s certainly feeling the effects, anyway, because he wants to say things he’s never fully thought about, do things he’s shoved so far back into his mind he’s all but forgotten them.

Obviously, he hasn’t shoved them far enough. That’s something to work on, in addition to his hockey.

“So, you want talk about hockey,” he says, because hockey is easy.

The effect it has on Sid is almost comical – he straightens and pushes his plate away a little, leaning forward on his forearms, gaze sharper, and he nods once. He has no trouble meeting Zhenya’s eyes now. “Yes.”

It isn’t a conversation he wants to have – it’s not a conversation he _ever_ wants to have – but he owes it to Sid. “Okay. Talk.”

“You’ve been playing like shit.”

Zhenya winces. Sid’s tone isn’t unkind, but, _fuck_ , hearing those words thrown at him makes him want to punch back. He bites his tongue, though, and takes a couple breaths before saying, “Yes. Know this.”

Sid softens. “What’s going on, Geno?”

“Nothing.”

Sid doesn’t say anything. Stares.

Zhenya fidgets with the chopsticks in his hand, tapping them on the plate. He knows the team will find out anyway, so he doesn’t know why he’s having this much trouble just _saying_ it. He sighs, laying the chopsticks down onto his plate, and runs a hand over his face. “Me and Anna. We get – divorce.”

Sid’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he says quietly. He licks his lips and then seems to recover, shifting into sympathetic friend mode. “God, I’m so sorry, Geno. That’s – that must be so hard to deal with.” He’s quiet for a moment before saying, “We – we, uh, don’t have to talk about it. If you don’t want to. But what have you guys decided? How far have you gotten?”

“I sign papers. Nika stay with me, when he born, she visit whenever she want. It not – we still friends.” For a give definition of friends, at least. It sounds so weird, saying he’s still friends with his ex-wife, but the divorce hadn’t been messy. It had been neat and easy – had been the only thing that was easy about their relationship, which was definitely a sign – because both of them were resigned, neither willing to go through the steps needed to fix their relationship. Zhenya had even been relieved, if he were honest, because he loved Anna – he still loves her – but their marriage had been rushed, hasty; a mistake.

“Oh...that’s good, then? You both wanted the divorce?”

“Yes.” He sighs and folds his arms onto the table, resting his chin in the divot where they meet, looking at Sid. “Both want. But – realize now I lose Anna.” Zhenya isn’t good with loneliness. He wants to be surrounded by people; he needs to be surrounded by people. And Anna was someone he could count on. Not physically – she mostly stayed in Miami during the season, the compromise they’d agreed to – but he knew she was _there_. He has no family here, his friends come and go, and the thought of trying to go out and _find_ someone else to share his life with is exhausting and, frankly, depressing.

“And...you didn’t realize you’d lose Anna when you divorced her?”

Zhenya quirks his lips. Sid’s trying his hardest to sound sympathetic and understanding, but he still can’t stop the incredulity in his voice. “Knew, but didn’t feel.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Sid says, sighing, “I’ve had some experience with that.”

“I sign papers about week ago, and I think – this what make me shit.”

“What can I do? To help? What do you need?”

“Nothing. Can’t do anything. Just need time.”

Sid bites his lip.“Okay. But _other_ than just waiting, what can I do? There has to be something.”

Zhenya shakes his head, straightening and running a hand through his hair. “Nothing,” he says, picking up his chopsticks.

Sid furrows his brow. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Just – be there. Can’t fix.”

Sid opens his mouth but then shuts it. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, nodding. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

“Yes, already start. Brought me sushi.” Zhenya pops a piece in his mouth, smiling. “Very, very good sushi. So good, gonna fix hockey.

“If sushi’s all it takes, I’ll buy out the whole store,” Sid says wryly, but Zhenya knows Sid would. Then he looks earnest, so Zhenya knows he’s about to say something Zhenya won’t know what to do with, something that’ll make him embarrassed but grateful. “You can do this. You’re gonna be a great dad, and the whole team’s gonna be here for you. We have a bunch of guys with kids and stuff, too, so we can ask them about what you’ll need to do to prepare.” He licks his lips and adds, “I’m here for you. And, um, if you want, I can help you, y’know, get ready for your kid.” When Zhenya doesn’t respond – he’s too busy holding back tears to do so because he doesn’t know what he’s done to have such a fucking blessed life – he hastily adds, cheeks red, “I mean, obviously, y’know, you can handle it, you don’t need me – “

“Always need you,” Zhenya cuts in, brow furrowed, because he _does_ and Sid needs to know that. He can’t imagine his life without Sid in it. “Yes, want.”

Sid blinks at him. “Okay.”

“Thank you, Sid. For everything,” he says softly. “Best friend.” And he doesn’t just mean that Sid’s an amazing friend – he means that Sid _is_ his best friend.

Sid shrugs. “Well, what are friends for?”

“Thought for bring sushi?”

Sid laughs, and Zhenya starts to believe this is something he can get through.

***

Zhenya’s trying to feed Nika, but his _darling_ boy has decided his food is better used as wall décor rather than something that should go inside his body. He doesn’t understand why he thought he could do this. Why had he just let Katya – wonderful, competent, calm Katya; Katya, a nanny sent from the heavens – leave for two months, insisting he could handle it himself?

Because he’s an _idiot_ , that’s why. Because he’d foolishly believed that since it was the offseason, it wouldn’t be too bad.

Nika’s wailing, tears roving down his face as if Zhenya has put him through unfathomable pain, his face so red it looks uncomfortable. His lung capacity is nothing short of astonishing, and every time Zhenya thinks he’s used to how loud he is, his son outdoes himself.

“Nika,” Zhenya says, and he’s so close to yelling he has to shut his eyes and take a few breaths, hands clenched into fists. He opens his eyes and says as calmly as he can, “Nikita, you have to eat.”

“Jesus,” Sid says from behind him.

Zhenya whirls around, clutching his chest. “ _Fuck_ , Sid, you fucking scare me,” he says, and then remembers Nika’s still there; he’s trying not to curse in front of him. “Oh, fuck.” Then, he realizes he had to _remember_ Nika was still there, which means he’s stopped crying, which means Zhenya might need to keep Sid with him forever because he has to be magic if he can get Nika to stop crying so quickly.

“Fuck, fucking marry me, stay here, you make him stop cry,” Zhenya begs.

Sid blinks at him and lets out a shaky breath before turning away, scoffing, sitting the bag of groceries down onto the counter and walking toward Nika, dodging bits of food on the floor. “So I have to do all the work? No thanks.”

Nika’s staring up at Sid with wide, watery eyes, whimpering a little.

“Oh, sweetie, look at you,” he coos, smoothing down his hair. “Look at those tears. Is your papa being mean to you?” He wipes his tears and Nika lets out a gurgle of agreement, latching onto Sid’s thumb. “You poor baby.”

He’s still hiccuping sobs, but in between, he’s managing to blubber gibberish, loud and plaintive.

Sid hums, nodding. “I know, I know, he’s absolutely _horrible_.”

“Stop turn my kid against me,” Zhenya says. He should probably be offended, but he doesn’t have the fucking energy to do so. If not for Sid, Zhenya would’ve probably died by now. He leans his hip against the countertop.

Sid ignores him and slides the tray out of the high chair, picking up Nika and using his bib to wipe at his face a little. He’s still babbling and Sid’s still making noises to let him know he’s listening.

“He has to _eat_ , Sid,” Zhenya says. “Put back.”

Sid shakes his head. “It’s not gonna work.” He eyes Zhenya. “Go get changed. You look like shit. Take a shower or something. Set a good example for your kid, eh?”

A shower sounds _amazing_ right now, even though he knows he’ll end up covered in bodily fluids again about five minutes after he’s done. But: “Have to clean, then go.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Sid says.

“No, can’t make you – “

“Yeah, that’s because you can’t actually make me do anything,” Sid says, both eyebrows raised, bouncing Nika on his hip a little. “So go.”

“Sid – “ he tries again, but it’s half-assed because Sid’s _offering_ , okay?

“C’mon, you can help me clean up,” Sid says to Nika. “Yeah? You wanna help?”

Zhenya isn’t the best at taking hints – he sometimes needs things to be shoved into his face – but he can take this one with no problem. “Thanks, Sid,” he says, and then goes.

He stands under the hot spray, letting it wash over him and sooth his shoulders and his neck. He wants to stay there forever, but he only indulges for a few minutes before shutting it off and getting out. He pulls on his clothes and pads down the stairs. Everything’s quiet – so quiet, it seems impossible.

He’s about to call out to check if maybe today’s the day Sid finally snapped and kidnapped his child, but he hears a burble of laughter from the kitchen and he follows it.

“...so good! I knew you could do it,” Sid’s saying. “You’re such a good boy. Be nicer to your papa, okay? He’s...” Sid trails off.

Zhenya stops right outside the kitchen, behind the wall, wanting to hear what Sid’s going to say so he can time his entrance perfectly.

“He’s trying his best,” Sid says. “And it’s hard, y’know? I know it’s hard for you, too, but you couldn’t ask for a better dad. You get to have him.” Sid’s exhale is long. “I don’t,” he whispers.

Zhenya’s staring ahead, eyes wide. He doesn't know how to process how lonely Sid sounded when he said, ‘I don’t,’ and it’s quiet for long enough that Zhenya’s starting to really, really regret his decision to eavesdrop, but morbid fascination and reckless curiosity anchor him to the ground.

Sid laughs, and it hurts to hear. “God, this isn’t what you wanna be hearing, huh, Nikita? Sorry, sorry. It’s just. I know he was joking when he asked me to marry him, but – _Jesus_. It hurt a lot more than I thought it would, hearing him say that as a joke. So easily, too.” He sighs again. “I’m an idiot,” he says quietly. “But I think – maybe, this is the closest I’m ever going to get. He can’t love me the way I love him, so for now, I think this is enough. I’ll get over him later. When I don’t have to see him every day.” Nikita gurgles. “When I’m not taking care of his kid for him. God. He told me he found a girl he actually likes, so maybe you’ll have a mom again, soon. I guess when it starts getting serious, I won’t be seeing too much of you, eh? He won’t need me, then, and neither will you.” His voice breaks a little as he says, “God, I’m gonna miss you so much.”

And Zhenya – Zhenya doesn’t know what to do with this information. He doesn’t – Sid _loves_ him? What the _fuck_?

Sid _loves him_.

He clenches his jaw and slowly moves back, turning and creeping back up the stairs. He clutches the rail tightly at the top, breathing out slowly through his nose. His heart is racing and he still hasn’t – _love_? How can Sid _love_ him?

He doesn’t have time to think about this right now, though. He can process it later, so he shoves it aside When he comes down the stairs this time, he makes as much noise as possible.

“Sid!” he yells. “You kidnap my kid?”

“We’re still in the kitchen!”

Of course they’re still in the kitchen, because that’s where Sid revealed that he –

Nope. Not thinking about it.

He rounds the corner into the kitchen and if Zhenya hadn’t heard the conversation happening with his own ears, there would’ve been no way to know anything was wrong. Sid’s sitting at the table, Nika in his lap, an empty bowl sitting in front of him, and he looks up at Zhenya with a smile. Zhenya stares, trying to see whether he can see _love_ in that smile.

Except he’s not thinking about that, so who cares? He should stop staring.

“Thank you, Sid,” he says, gesturing at everything, because Sid’s supported him in  _everything_ , always there, never asking for anything in return, and the _entire time_ , he’d –

Fucking hell, he’s _not_ doing this right now.

“No problem,” Sid says, laughing a little as Nika hits his cheek, and it isn’t fair that he can look so _normal_ after Zhenya’s entire world has shifted. He’s got a little smudge of something orange on his cheek, and Nika’s blowing raspberries at him as Sid holds him up, eyes crinkled and smiling unabashedly.

And suddenly, Zhenya needs him to leave.

He reaches his hands out and Sid hands him Nika after a moment. He crosses his arms, staring up at Zhenya.

“I’m – we gonna sleep,” Zhenya says.

Sid blinks up at him, mouth parting a little as he slowly releases his arms. “What?” He furrows his brow. “But I thought...” He glances at the bag of groceries still on the counter, because yeah – Zhenya usually cooks and they eat lunch together, because feeding Sid is the least Zhenya can do.

They usually sit at the table, Nika creating art with his food and Zhenya letting him because he’s already eaten; Sid talks to Nika, throwing a comment or a smile or a loud laugh at Zhenya every once in a while, and how the _fuck_ is he supposed to sit through that, now that he knows?

Zhenya shakes his head. “Really tired today, Sid, sorry,” he says as gently as he can. “Just – won’t be good company.”

Sid’s face falls and then shutters before he morphs it into an expression of understanding, nodding jerkily. “Right, of course, for sure.” He gets up and shoves his hands into his pocket, jerking his head to the side as he says, “I’ll just. Go, then.” He isn’t looking at Zhenya, though, and he doesn’t try to as he turns to leave and Zhenya doesn’t _understand_ , he doesn’t understand why Sid puts himself through this day after day, doesn’t understand how Sid’s still so – so _Sid-_ like, even when Zhenya’s presence hurts him so much.

Because he’s dealt with unrequited affection before. It wasn’t even love, but it had _hurt_.

“Sorry, Sid,” he says, because he can’t just let him go like that. “Next time, yes? Make two lunch for you.”

Sid quirks his mouth and shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Get some sleep, eh?”

Nika slaps Zhenya on the nose and Sid’s startled into laughter, so Nika stares at him and does it again. Zhenya grabs his hand the third time he tries to do it, shaking it a little when Nika smiles at him, wide and angelic. “I see what you teach,” Zhenya says, mock-glaring at Sid.

“You got me.” He takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair before putting it back on, adjusting it until it fits right. “I’ll see you, then.”

Zhenya nods. “Bye, Sid. You best.”

Sid doesn’t acknowledge his statement and walks out. Zhenya’s left alone standing in the kitchen, Nika starting to cry in his arms again.

***

Zhenya isn’t straight.

It had been the source of a lot of teenage angst before he’d decided, fuck it, so what? He’d come out to his parents with his hands shaking and his voice hoarse but his chin jutted out, jaw clenched. It hadn’t been pretty: there were tears; silence occupied the places laughter had vacated; any words exchanged were stilted, hesitant, neither of them sure how to go back to the way things had been.

Zhenya had shattered their lives, shards scattered everywhere, and there weren’t enough pieces left to rebuild – but there were enough to build something new, something just as beautiful.

So it isn’t the fact that Sid’s attracted to him that’s the problem – he isn’t freaked out by it or anything. If he ever allowed himself to think about it – which he doesn’t, ever – he knows Sid’s attractive, too. Extremely attractive.

No, it’s the fact that Sid’s _in love_ with him. And that Zhenya doesn't love him back.

His relationship with Sid is arguably the most important relationship of his adult life. Not only have they led the Pens together, they’ve relied on each other and understood one another in ways that others can’t. This? Sid loving him? This complicates everything, and even though his relationship with Sid has had its ups and downs, the one thing it has never been is complicated.

Zhenya doesn’t know what to do, so he does what he _does_ know – avoid.

He isn’t proud of it, but he starts avoiding Sid. Not inviting him over as often, hinting he should leave sooner rather than later, reducing the time he spends with Nika; stops seeking him out, stops complaining to him about his life through text, stop sending him as many pictures of Nika being adorable. Watching Sid’s face cloud with confusion and hurt for a second before he smooths it out every time doesn’t get easier, but it’s better this way.

Nika starts crying more often, looking, always looking. Zhenya can barely get him to nap because it was _Sid_ that usually did it, speaking to him gently and rocking him until Nika couldn’t keep his head up, his eyes shut. Feeding him is even more of a trial than it was before, and Zhenya doesn’t remember the last time he felt this shitty.

People make fun of Sid for how awkward he is, but Sid’s great at observing social cues and etiquette; he just usually doesn’t give enough of a fuck to devote any energy to it. It doesn’t take him long, then, to figure out what Zhenya’s doing.

“Uh, Geno,” he says after slipping his shoes on. Zhenya didn’t even have to hint at him to leave – he did it himself, as quickly as possible, after dropping off some of Nika’s clothes that had somehow made it to his house. He fiddles with his keys and looks at Zhenya before ducking his head, the bill of his cap blocking his face from view. “If you don’t want me to come over, please just tell me.”

It’s the way he says it that really gets to Zhenya – resigned, almost timid. Two things Sidney Crosby is _not_. “No, of course, of course want you here,” Zhenya rushes to say, even though he probably shouldn’t because he’s supposed to be _avoiding_. He takes a step forward and almost reaches out to touch Sid before stopping himself.

Sid raises his head, brow furrowed, unable to maintain eye contact, and he swallows before asking, “Are you mad at me? Did I – do something wrong?”

And _this_ is why he needs people around him – to tell him what a complete fucking idiot he is; to pull his head out of his ass and yell at him for letting it get stuck there in the first place. “No, never,” he says, the guilt welling up within him, overflowing into the words. “Never, do everything right, always.”

“Then I don’t understand. Why are you – it seems like you don’t want me to...be here.”

“Is not that,” he says, and he doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how to tell him it’s because Sid’s confusing, complicated; that he makes Zhenya think about things he really, really doesn’t want to; that Zhenya hates that he’s doing this to Sid, even though he can’t help it. He can’t let Sid think it’s his fault, either, though, so he says the first thing that pops into his mind: “Rachel just here more often.”

Rachel being the woman he told Sid he was interested in, weeks ago. Fuck, what the _fuck_ is wrong with him, why the fuck would he say that?

Sid leans back, mouth parted. He blinks rapidly and takes a breath before saying, “Ah. I see.” And then, he smiles, and Zhenya’s heart breaks. “Should’ve just told me, Geno. I would’ve stopped a lot earlier.” He cocks his head a little, smile dimmer but still there, and if Zhenya didn’t know where to look – the tightness around his eyes, which looks nothing like when he’s really smiling; the way he’s gripping his keys, so tight it has to hurt; the careful, mindful way he’s breathing, just like they’re taught to do when they’re on the ice and need to calm down – he would believe it. “I’m happy for you. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Zhenya says after a moment, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I’ll, y’know, get out of your hair then, eh? Bye, Geno.”

Zhenya wants to say, “Stay.” He wants to say, “I lied.” He wants to say, “I’m sorry.” He wants to say, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I know I want you here with me.”

Instead, he watches the tense set of Sid’s shoulders as he leaves and the moment he’s sure Sid’s gone, he punches the wall and yells: “FUCK!” He leans on his forearms against it and hangs his head. “Fuck.”

Why did Sid have to feel this way? Why did Zhenya have to eavesdrop? Why the fuck did he have to deal with it? Why couldn’t he just pretend he hadn’t heard anything?

He stomps into the living room and collapses onto the couch, checking the time and fiddling with his phone before pulling up his contacts and calling Mama because she’ll know what to do – she always knows what to do. “Mama,” he says when she picks up. “Did I wake you?”

“If you had, I wouldn’t have picked up,” she says. They both know she’s lying. “So, what’s wrong?”

He makes an annoyed noise. “What if – “

“You just wanted to hear your beautiful mother’s voice, yes, yes; we’ve done this before. I know when something’s wrong – a mother can _feel_ it in her soul.”

He sighs. “I did something stupid.”

“...Am I supposed to be surprised?”

“ _Mama_ ,” Zhenya whines, frowning as he hugs a throw pillow to his body.

“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

“I told Sid I’m – well, I basically told him I’m replacing him in my life.” Because he knows that’s how Sid probably read it – that he was being replaced by Rachel, that this was how it was always going to be. That the fact he’s basically helped _raise_ Nika means nothing to Zhenya.

“Ah, it’s about _Sid_. I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, glaring at nothing.

“Nothing, nothing,” she says airily. “Just, I know he’s very important to you.”

Zhenya picks at the threads of the cushion. “He is.”

“So, why were you having this conversation in the first place?”

Zhenya fidgets, trying to find the words, and he throws the pillow to the side. “He – well, he’s been helping me, with Nika, very much. For months, since the divorce. You know this. He’s good – _so good_ – at it, and so he would. Well, he would often show up at my house because I’d complained to him about how hard it was to take care of Nika by myself, and he’d be at my door right when I needed him without me even having to ask, and it just – it became a routine, and you know how Sid is with routine. And with Katya on her leave, he’s basically _lived_ here.”

He takes a deep breath. “Well, he was feeding Nika – I swear, he’s the only one that can when Nika starts having a tantrum – and had told me to go shower and I did and then I came back down and I decided to eavesdrop because he was talking to Nika and I.” He rubs his thigh with his palm, back and forth, back and forth. “I heard him.” He clears his throat. “He was talking and I heard him say he loved me.”

Mama doesn’t say anything, though, and he waits and waits and waits before snapping, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“You haven’t finished. I asked you why you were having the conversation about Sid being replaced.”

Zhenya hunches over, his elbow on his knee, his forehead propped up by his hand. “I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. Because here I am, pretending as if everything's okay, when I know how much it hurts Sid to _see_ me like this. How can I just ignore that? And so I just – I started to.” He runs his hand over his face and rubs his eye. “I started to avoid him. Nothing – nothing explicit, I didn’t kick him out, but I hinted at it and Sid knew and after a little while he asked me, he said, ‘If you don’t want me to come over, please just tell me,’ and the _way_ he said it –“ His throat closes up and he gets up, starts to pace.

“Mama, Sid never sounds like that. So I said no, of course not, and then he asked me if I was mad, what he’d done wrong – as if he’s _ever_ done anything but been kind and amazing and far too good to me – and I said he didn’t, because I couldn’t let him believe that!” He waves an arm to punctuate exactly how much he _couldn’t_ let Sid believe that. “But this is Sid, he needs to _know_ things, so he asks me then what the problem is, and I say, ‘Oh, Rachel’s here more often.’”

“And who is this Rachel?”

“A woman I told him about weeks ago, a woman he thinks I’m falling in love with, probably.”

“Are you? In love with Rachel?”

He stops. “No!” He starts pacing again. “I haven’t even _talked_ to her in weeks, because how could I, with Sid just – just _saying_ that? But I told him it was because of her, and now he thinks that I’ve been withdrawing from him because of her. That I’ve decided, oh, he can’t be at my house or see my kid, he can’t be a part of my life in that way, as if he isn’t my best friend, because I suddenly have a girlfriend. How can he think I would just forget everything he’s done for me, that I was just _using_ him?”

“He can think that because you have done a very good job of pretending that’s the case. Not the _using_ part, of course, I don't think Sid thinks of you – or his experiences – like that. But oh, Zhenya,” she says, sighing.

He sits down again, right at the edge of the couch. “What am I supposed to do?” He’s well past the age where he believes his parents have all – or even most – of the answers, but Mama’s wise, she’s good at these things, she knows how to deal with Zhenya’s fuckups.

“So, the problem is that Sidney loves you but you don’t love him, and now you’ve convinced him it’s time for him to stop being so involved with your personal life because you’re scared – “

“I’m not – ”

“ _Scared_ ,” Mama says, “and you don’t know how to deal with that, and you feel horrible because you know every time he’s with you, he’s hurting, a little. Or a lot.”

He runs a hand over his head and grasps the back of his neck before bringing his hand down. He hates the way it sounds, but it’s the truth. “Yes.”

“Okay.” She’s quiet for a moment, and then she says, “Do you love him?”

Zhenya sputters. “ _What_? Of course not! Haven’t you been listening?”

Silence.

“I...don’t?” He straightens, jutting his chin out. “No, I don’t! What kind of question is that?”

“How much have you thought about this?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for _weeks_ – all day, every day. I could barely think about anything else.”

Mama tsks. “How much have you thought about whether you love _Sidney_ or not?”

“I haven’t, because there’s nothing _to_ think about.”

“And you’re sure about that? So sure, you’re willing to bet your entire relationship with Sidney on it?"

He opens his mouth, intending to let out a determined _yes_ , but he shuts it and doesn’t say anything.

“Yes, that’s what I thought. Think about it. Sort out your thoughts, your emotions. Then call me, if you need to.”

Zhenya’s sulking, he knows it. “You were supposed to give me a solution, not a way to make things even _more_ complicated.”

“I can sort out your room for you, but I can’t do the same for your mind. If all you wanted was a sympathetic ear, you should have called your father."

He leans back into the couch, letting out a groan. “I know, I know.” He adds quietly: “Thank you, Mama. I would be lost without you.”

“Yes. A mother always knows,” she says primly. “Now, go examine your life and your choices.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Okay, Mama."

“Call me when you have updates.”

They say their goodbyes and she hangs up first. He stares up at the ceiling, phone still cradled in his palm.

In _love_? With _Sidney_? Impossible. He would know, for fuck’s sake, he’s had his fair share of experience with love.

He isn’t in love with Sid.

***

Okay, maybe he’s in love with Sid.

It takes a couple of days for him to get to that conclusion because he takes every detour possible, meandering this way and that, hoping a path leads him anywhere but where he’s headed. Once he arrives, though there’s no way to avoid it – it’s glaringly obvious.

Nika is his judgmental companion on his journey – the amount of times he talks to Nika hoping an answer might divine itself is embarrassing and nothing he will ever admit to anyone, and every time Nika stares at him, he swears he sees Anna’s patented ‘you’re an idiot’ expression on his face. The kinder one, back when they started their relationship; not what it had become near the end.

It hits him midday, after he’s given Nika a bath and needs to find some clothes for him. Zhenya’s wrapped him in blanket and he keeps wriggling in his arms, so he sets him down on the bed. Nika’s telling him a story – maybe he’s destined to be a politician; the thought makes Zhenya shudder – so Zhenya keeps talking back to him as he digs through the drawer.

He stops abruptly when he gets to the mini Crosby jersey Sid had gifted him.

Sid hadn’t made it a big deal, had just slipped it in, and Zhenya remembers Sid’s face the first time he saw Nika wearing it – the way he’d almost stopped breathing, just stared. Zhenya had just assumed it was because Sid had been really happy to see Nika and moved on with his life, since Sid had recovered so quickly and started giving him shit over it.

Only now does he realize what that must’ve looked like, on Sid’s end. Only now does he realize how much he _liked_ that, seeing Sid in his house, doting over Nika. Zhenya hates it when anyone else tries to keep Nika for more than five minutes, or take him out, or do anything, but he’s never felt that way with Sid. He’s never felt anything but trusting and pleased. He’s felt like it was _right_ , somehow, that this was how it was supposed to be, and he's familiar with that feeling. He's felt it before. He’s in love with Sid.

Well, fuck.

How had he not _realized_? He doesn’t know when it changed from platonic love into something very much _not_ platonic – he's not even sure whether there was any platonic love in the first place, really, and isn't that a wonderful thought – but the change happened.

He grabs the shirt and everything else and goes back to Nika, who’s starting to get annoyed at being ignored.

“I love Sid,” he tells him, unwrapping him. Saying it aloud cements it into reality, and once he gets past the initial shock, he doesn’t feel any different.

He interprets the outpouring of syllables from Nika as, “Well, yeah.”

“Did you know about this?” he says, putting the shirt on him. Nika laughs, rolling to the side, and Zhenya rolls him back so he can put on his pants over the diaper. “Why didn’t you tell me, hmm? This is information you should share with your papa.” He picks him up and peppers his face with kisses. 

He paces around the room, Nika in his arms. “This is – okay. This is fine. I love him, he loves me, it’s a match made in heaven. Everything is great. _But_ ,” he says with relish, and Nika stares at him solemnly, waiting, “what if it isn’t? Did you think about that?”

He groans dramatically and falls back onto the bed, resting Nika on his chest, staring up at the ceiling. “What should I do? Should I tell him?” Nika tugs at Zhenya’s hair, hard enough to hurt. “ _Ow_ , okay, I get it, I’ll tell him.”

Because if he doesn't, there's no way he can ever look Sid in the face without thinking, _I love him and he loves me and we're doing absolutely nothing about it._ And Zhenya hates passivity. He's always gone after what he wants, no matter the risk.

He sits up, staring down at Nika seriously. “But _when_ should I tell him?” he asks. Nika doesn’t offer any suggestions.

Mama’s always telling him to get things done, always chiding him for taking too long or delaying too much, and maybe he should finally take her advice and just – do it now. Embrace his impulsiveness.

He looks down at himself. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt. What do people wear to declarations of love? Is there a dress code? He decides he’s dressed well enough – his clothes don’t have any evidence of Nika over them, which is what counts as “well enough” now – and gets up, thuds down the stairs, Nika laughing sharply at the burst of speed.

“Let’s tell him now, yeah?” he says, picking up his keys and his wallet. He slips on his sunglasses, which Nika immediately tries to tear off. “No, stop it, I need those,” he says, batting his hands away, heading to the car.

After having Nika, he’s had to get a much uglier car and curb his tendencies to speed, because he isn’t driving that fast with his baby in the back. It takes him longer than he likes – he could’ve saved five minutes if he’d sped through that light – but he finally arrives at Sid’s. He keys in the code to the gate and only then realizes he probably should’ve checked whether Sid was home or not.

Oh, well. Too late now.

He jiggles his knee up and down as the gate slowly, _slowly_ opens, and he floors it to get up to the driveway. Sid’s car is still sitting there, so the chances Sid’s home are high. He clambers out and gets Nika out, letting him take the sunglasses this time, all but running to the door.

He _could_ just go in – Sid gave him a key a while back – but that’s probably not a good idea, so he’s about to press the bell when he realizes: oh, _shit_ , he’s making a declaration of love.

What if Sid’s changed his mind? What if it doesn’t work out?

Nika scratches him on his collarbone, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Zhenya sucks in a deep breath and lets it out all at once. “You’re right,” he says, nodding. “I have to be brave. It’s too late to change my mind.” He takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell twice in quick succession.

It’s a lifetime – or two, since Nika’s here with him, too – before he hears the door unlock. His heart is working overtime, going above and beyond what’s required; he’s oscillating between not breathing at all or breathing too much; every thought in his mind has been replaced with ominous, monotonous static.

Sid opens the door.

He looks – normal, actually. Zhenya doesn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe something a little more dramatic? The circles around his eyes are darker than usual, but other than that, it doesn’t _look_ like Zhenya ripped out his heart a couple days ago.

“ _Geno_?” he says, his expression appending, ‘What the fuck?’

“I love you,” Zhenya blurts out. “A lot.” Nika offers backup by dropping the sunglasses and straining toward Sid, shouting excitedly and bouncing when he sees him.

Sid frowns, and _fuck_ , that is _not_ the expression of someone who’s been swept off their feet. “I don’t speak Russian,” he says, crossing his arms. He smiles at Nika, reaching out halfway before stopping, flicking his eyes toward Zhenya and dropping his arms.

Okay, so Zhenya has to say it again. Out loud. This time in English. “I...” He licks his lips, and Nika starts wriggling so he adjusts him in his arms. He looks directly at Sid and says calmly, “I love you.” And then he holds out Nika, almost as an offering, because it seems like a good idea and Nika’s about to jump out of his hold to get to Sid, anyway.

Sid takes him automatically, holding him against his chest, but he’s staring at Zhenya, mouth parted, unmoving. “What?” he breathes, eyes wide.

And that’s when Nika decides to throw up on Sid.

“Oh my god,” Sid says, holding Nika out and looking down at his 412 shirt, surveying the damage.

“Are you fucking serious?” Zhenya asks the back of Nika’s head, who’s kicking his feet in the air, perfectly fine, not at all bothered by what he’s just done. Sid backs into the house and Zhenya follows him, shutting the door behind him. He takes Nika back from Sid, saying, “Fuck, sorry, sorry – ”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal,” Sid says on autopilot, and then he remembers what just happened and says: “Wait, what do you mean, you _love_ me?”

“Love. Y’know, like.” Zhenya gestures vaguely at nothing. “Love.”

Sid’s quiet, staring at him. “...Do you mean, like, friendship love?”

This is going a lot less smoothly than Zhenya hoped. According to the hastily created timeline in his head, they should’ve been kissing by now.“No, mean, y’know, _love_ love.”

Sid furrows his brow and tries crossing his arms, but he’s still got baby vomit all over him so he vetoes the plan immediately. “Ugh,” he says, strips off his shirt, and _then_ crosses his arms. He’s back to staring at Zhenya. “...So, when you mean _love_ love – ”

“For fuck’s sake,” Zhenya snaps, and then he steps forward, cradles Sid’s jaw in one hand, and leans down to kiss him, going slow enough Sid has every chance to stop him. Sid stiffens and then relaxes, dropping the shirt on the floor, bringing up a hand to bury in Zhenya’s hair and resting the other on Zhenya’s hip.

It’s intended to be a quick, chaste kiss, but Zhenya drags his hand down Sid’s front – it’s a lot of bare skin, and Zhenya is a hedonist with very little self-control – and Sid parts his lips, tightening the grip he has in Zhenya’s hair, and, well, what’s he supposed to do with that? He licks gently into Sid’s mouth, flicking his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth, and Sid shudders, gasping into the kiss.

Nika senses something important is happening, so naturally, he rushes to insert himself into the moment. He shoves his fist right into where they’re kissing, complaining at being ignored, and they break off, Sid laughing breathlessly as he turns to Nika.

“Sorry, haven’t forgotten you,” he says, and he steps back a little, reaching for Nika – who is, once again, trying to somersault out of Zhenya’s grip and into Sid’s; maybe he’s destined to be a gymnast – but he hesitates, looking at Zhenya.

Before Sid can ask him, Zhenya hands Nika over because Sid’s done so much in helping raise him, he loves him so much, Nika is just as much his as he is Zhenya’s. Sid shouldn’t have to _ask_ him.

Sid cradles him in his arms, dropping a kiss to the top of his head, gaze soft. “Hey,” he says gently, grinning. Nika babbles back in return, eyes wide, telling him all that he’s missed. “I missed you, too.” He notices the 87 on Nika’s chest and traces it with his finger before looking at Zhenya, broken apart.

His ribs aren’t large enough to encase everything he’s feeling – the amalgam of love and joy and shock _,_ and, lacing it all together, _home_. “This,” he forces out, voice hoarse. “This what I mean.”

Nika’s done updating Sid and has instead wrapped his arms around his neck, resting his head on Sid’s collarbone.

“You mean...”

“Want you be family, Sid,” he says, and then hurries to clarify, “Not in _brother_ way,” because the way this has been going so far, Sid would probably interpret it as such.

“Oh,” Sid says faintly, blinking at him. He licks his lips, and now that Zhenya’s allowed to really look, he’s going to have a lot of trouble not doing so. “I...” His mouth works, and he finally gets out: “Really?”

“ _Yes_ , really,” he says impatiently. “What I need to do, make you believe? Send flowers?” He steps closer, enough so Sid has to look up at him to maintain eye contact. “Bring chocolate? Cheesecake, maybe?”

“Oh, god, please don’t,” Sid says, starting to smile.

“No? Okay, you not like – how about bouquet of hockey sticks instead?”

Sid giggles, and Nika lifts his head to join him with sharp peals of laughter, which makes Sid laugh harder and Zhenya’s smile stretch wider. “Spare me, please.”

“So picky,” he says, placing his hands on Sid’s hips and pulling him in a little closer. Sid comes easily. “What I do, then? To make you believe?”

“I think I’m good now,” he says, face so open and fond, and Zhenya can’t believe he hadn’t done this sooner. The smile fades from his face, though, and he asks: “What about Rachel, though?”

Zhenya makes a dismissive noise. “Is nothing.” He’s going to explain everything, properly, and it’s going to be a long conversation, probably, but right now – right now, he wants to enjoy this. He wants to kiss Sid again and again and again, so he does, leaning down, keeping the kisses chaste and light, smiling into them, each one lifting him higher and higher.

“Oh, I just realized,” Sid says after a moment, pushing into the hand Zhenya’s placed on his cheek. “I didn’t say I love you.” He pauses. “I do, by the way. Love you.”

Zhenya grins – he isn’t sure whether he’s even _stopped_ grinning, since Sid accepted – and huffs out a laugh, because Sid is ridiculous and he loves him. “Good to know. Else I get very wrong idea of what you mean.”

Sid looks like he’s about to answer but then he stops and looks down at where Nika is resting his head, making a face. “So, you’re gonna use my shoulder as a bib, huh?” he asks, and he sounds absolutely delighted by the idea. “I should put on a shirt.”

Zhenya runs his hand up Sid’s side, down his arm, watching the way Sid leans into the touch, and he can’t wait to learn Sid’s body, figure out what he likes. “No,” he says. “Good view.”

Sid raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I’m not gonna walk around shirtless because you want me to,” he says, and he brushes past Zhenya, walking toward the stairs.

Zhenya takes a moment to appreciate _this_ view before whining, “So mean.”

“Yeah, I am. Did you think that was gonna change?” he says, not even bothering to look down at Zhenya as he climbs the stairs.

“No,” he says, pretending he’s extremely disappointed, but Zhenya doesn’t want Sid to change. At all. Ever.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he ducks his head and laughs, a little at himself and a little in disbelief. He knows Mama’s gonna be insufferable – because she’s as bad as he is when she turns out to be right; he inherited it from somewhere – but he hears Sid and Nika upstairs and realizes he really, really doesn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i KNOW 'eavesdropping and you learn something you don't wanna learn' is a cliché as old as time, but i never claimed my writing wasn't chock-full of clichés. and sid was never gonna come out and, like, _talk_ about his _feelings_ , so i had to do something. this would've also been done a lot sooner if i hadn't gotten distracted watching videos of adorable children in the name of "research"
> 
> let me know what you guys thought (including constructive criticism), and thanks for reading!! happy holidays everyone :)))
> 
> EDIT: thanks to the lovely [CloudCover](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover), i made a couple changes; she was super helpful!! i'd say go read her stuff but like. she has many MANY more hits than i do lmao so i think me endorsing her is really not gonna make a difference.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [temper with what is true](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14228820) by [lotts (LottieAnna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts)




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